For the last couple weeks, my Mama cat, Sasha (pictured below), decided that her daughter Samantha had become a wicked adolescent (or something, who knows), and every time poor little Samantha sashayed into the room, Sasha would hiss and bat at Samantha with her very swift and furry paw, which, thankfully, is a mitt sans CLAWS, so Sasha didn’t draw blood or anything.
Sasha, the mama cat, lounging on my bed.
And as far as I could see, Samantha had done nothing to warrant her mother’s wrath…
Here’s Samantha, pretty as you please after she trashed my closet a couple of months ago…:), the little dickens.
We thought the ruckus was due to the fact that Sasha was spayed shortly after Samantha and her brothers/sisters were born, but Samantha has not yet had the dreaded hysterectomy, which one of my friends on Facebook mentioned. I hadn’t scheduled Samantha’s official snipping before now because we were so broke when Nana was still living with us. And quite honestly, after she moved back to Florida (see http://tenaciousbitch.com/2013/06/28/still-unhappy-but-there-is-a-dog-named-sue/ ), I kind of forgot about it.
I called the Vet this morning, and Samantha has an appointment for a checkup/booster on her immunizations this coming Friday, and then, she’ll be going in for surgery to remove all that pesky female plumbing next Thursday.
HOWEVER…finally, thank HEAVENS, Sasha and Samantha seemed to have patched things up – because this is how I found them when I got up this morning…
Sasha and Samantha all curled up on the couch.
Oddly enough, this was AFTER Samantha went into heat Saturday night. Weird, huh? Yeah, she started YOWLING and hiking her haunches up in the air late Saturday afternoon. She’s a little calmer now but not much.
So, then, yesterday, my son, Max, was making his breakfast. I was upstairs cleaning when he heard me tearing around after Sasha, completely panicked, shouting, “Oh, my God, Sasha! Come back here! Give me that!”
“What’s wrong?” Max asked, from the kitchen, spatula in hand, as I chased after Sasha who bounced down the steps like a calico basketball.
According to Max, I sputtered, “She’s got a penis!”
“What?” He asked, rather confused. He sauntered back in the kitchen, flipped his omelet, then followed me into the dining room where Sasha had stopped right in front of the Grandfather clock, which began CHIMING loudly – 11 times, since it was 11 AM. “She’s got a what?”
“She’s got a penis!” I allegedly shouted over the loud GONGING of the clock. Finally, I kneeled down on the floor beside Sasha, and Max watched, ever-so-puzzled, while I wrestled something out of Sasha’s mouth. “Oh, thank God,” I said with a sigh. “It was just a tag.”
“What’d you think she had?”
“A peanut.”
His brow furrowed, a little befuddled. “Well, that wouldn’t kill her. Was she choking on it?”
“No, not a Planter’s Peanut that you eat,” I said, shaking my head.
White Styrofoam PEANUTS in my trash
“A packing peanut. I bought a book that was packed to the brim with them last week. I hate those damned things. They get everywhere. I was consolidating all the trash from upstairs into a plastic bag to carry outside when some of the packing peanuts fell on the floor in the hallway, and Sasha ran off with something white, couldn’t tell what.”
“Oh, okay,” Max said, laughing. “I thought you said, she had a penis!”
We both burst out laughing. “Nope, just this…” I said, holding up the tag.
Okay, so maybe Sasha cat isn’t REALLY transsexual, but the fact that Sasha and Samantha are now all cozy after Samantha went into heat does make ya wonder, does it not?
Over and out from fracked up central…
Tenacious BITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies
© Tenacious Bitch 2013
